Noldolantë
by the-inked-quill
Summary: "Of the Kinslaying at Alqualondë more is told in that lament which is named Noldolantë, the Fall of the Noldor, that Maglor made ere he was lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien, "Of the Flight of the Noldor" from the Silmarillion. Herein lies the history of the Darkening of Valinor and the Fall of the Noldor, as told by the second son of Curufinwë Fëanáro.


**Canto I**

* * *

Lady of Sorrows, tune my lyre

To sing of unrelenting fire

In Fëanáro's flaming eyes

Lifted against the holy skies

Of Valinor in wrath and pride;

O thou who Námo's halls beside

Weeps for the bitterest sorrow

Of Arda marred by mighty foe,

O sister of Námo, grim lord

And Doomsman, in whose halls are stored

Great storied webs woven with tales

Of Time's march over winding trails

Wherein my tale may yet be found,

O free my tongue from mortal bounds

And let me sing of fire, of wrath

And darkness, and of ruinous path

Blazed by the Noldor over sea

To Endor, where the shadows be.

O Mercy, sister of grim Fate,

Kindle bright Hope in face of hate

And evil foes, and Valar's Doom

Yet shadowing in deepest gloom

Each step of mine and of my kin:

Here let my sorrowing song begin.

~o~O~o~

In Valinor beyond the sea

Stood Tirion, noble city

In white and gold bright glimmering

Where Finwë, of the Noldor king

Held court in stateliest array

Over his people, proud and fey.

Great halls there were of marble hewn

By masons skilled, with flowers strewn

And hung with richest tapestry

Within those courts of rare beauty,

Where laughing voice, and flowing song

Rose from the splendidly clad throng

Of high-born Noldor lords within

The gates of Finwë and his kin.

Yet now the halls lay cold and still -

No minstrel's song or gentle trill

Of silver flutes soft echoing

Was heard within. Finwë the King

Had called high council on this day,

For on his people shadows lay

Of strife, unrest, and whispered words

Of treachery, of smithing swords,

Doubt of the Valar's guiding hands,

Desires to conquer foreign lands.

Concerning lies secretly sown

Now to ruinous stature grown,

All Tirion's lords were in debate

Within the lofty hall of state

Whose doors of fine wood were inlaid

With carven panels, finely made

In likeness of the lofty height -

Taniquetil, mount clothed in white,

Seat of Manwë, of Valinor

The chiefest guardian evermore,

And Varda Elentári fair,

His queen, lovely beyond compare,

Who kindled starlight's flaming spark

Above Endor's forsaken dark.

Fast closed those wondrous doors now lay

Barring the chamber of parlay

And facing toward the marble halls -

~o~O~o~

Silent no more, for from the walls

Echoing, swift footsteps neared

As princely figure now appeared

Of Nolofinwë, second son

Born to the King of Tirion.

Fair was his face, yet firm his gaze,

Stalwart, yet gentle in his ways,

Blue was his raiment, as the sea

Surging beneath the Pélori,

Broidered with silver, shining bright

Within the yet-untainted light

Fallen from the Trees on hallowed hill.

Toward the chamber of council

He bent his steps, until before

The marvellously carven door

He paused and stood in moment's rest

In reverence toward the mountain blest

Carven thereon; then with grim face

Knocked. Entering, an honored place

Was made for him beside the king

And Finwë, with gaze wondering

Addressed his son: "What brings thee here,

My son? Some new unrest, I fear

Has reared its head in Tirion."

~o~O~o~

"My king, truth speakest thou, for gone

Is peace from our fair land. Yet naught

Of new unrest news have I brought

But grief of old I bring today:

Father, our brother groweth fey

And proud; 'Tis Curufinwë, named

Spirit of Fire, who hast claimed

The people's ear. Wilt thou restrain

The pride of him who now would fain

Speak in the square, with voice ringing

Unto our people, as a king?

Thou it was, who led us through

Endor's perils, to life anew

In Aman's radiance, following

The Valar's gentle summoning

Of Elvenkind to Valinor.

If thou lovest this blessed shore

Repenting not thy earliest choice -

Thou hast two sons to heed thy voice;

Two sons of three to thee hold fast."

~o~O~o~

While he still spoke, the door was cast

Roughly aside; striding within

In full array of armour then

Came Curufinwë Finwion,

Called Fëanáro, eldest son

Of Finwë, now with high helm crowned

And mighty sword beside him bound.

"And so it is, " the High Prince growled,

"E'en as I guessed. Wisdom is fouled

By my half-brother's ramblings.

He fain in this and other things

Would be before me with my sire."

Now turning on his brother, fire

Flashed fell in Curufinwë's face.

"Begone! And take thy rightful place!"

Thus saying, Fëanáro drew

His sword upon his brother true,

Who bowed before the King and went

From there; no word or glance he sent

Toward his elder brother. Yet

In flaming wrath the High Prince set

To follow him. With sword still drawn,

Through peaceful halls he hastened on,

And stayed his brother at the gate,

Setting sword at his breast. With hate

He said, "Behold, half-brother, this

My sword exceeding sharper is

Than thy poor tongue. Try but once more

To steal, as thou hast done before,

My place and my own father's love,

And maybe its point shall remove

From Tirion the one who seeks

To rule those from whom thraldom reeks."

~o~O~o~

With stricken gaze the gathered throng

In Mindon's square whispered among

Themselves as Nolofinwë made

No answer to the fierce tirade

But passed away through wondering crowd,

While Fëanáro, tall and proud,

Still gazed on him with baleful eye

Heedless of all those passing by.


End file.
